


The Fall of New York

by tully



Category: Turn (TV 2014), Washington's Spies
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:58:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tully/pseuds/tully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben walks in on Washington's moment of weakness after losing New York to the British. (aka this is a mediocre oneshot and the ben/wash is intentional)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall of New York

He sat steeped in the bitter brew of his own grief. Normally he knew better than to let it seep to the surface, but today there were too many cracks in his composure and too little to fill them with; for tonight, he was a slave to his private anguish. A disappointment. He had always prided himself in his self-control.

The fire popped absently to his left; a gust of wind shrieked past the window, whistled through the openings in the woodwork. Washington was thankful for the active winds tonight; they seemed to pad the edges of his thoughts, insulate him in this little building from the men camped outside. To the crackling of the flames he rubbed a hand haggardly over his tired face.

He had failed on a larger level than keeping his emotions suppressed; he had given up too many young lives today, damaged too many good souls. The British held New York, and he had not been able to prevent that. God, why had he put himself in such a position? Was the right to tax themselves worth the miserable bloodshed he saw daily? They were doomed to fail, that was for sure; they had too few advantages over the Ocean's Mightiest Navy, too few men, too few resources, too little training. He had been a mortal manifestation of those setbacks today; he had been the compromise that had cost him New York. A failure. Unworthy. Unfit to lead.

The words of the Tallmadge boy echoed sardonically in the recesses of his brain. 'We are divided, sir,' he had said, with a fervor in his voice that the General admired (and privately adored) about him. 'We are greatly divided!'

Well, that was true enough. (He made an effort to avoid the memory of himself snarling at the boy just after.)

Footsteps descended on the stairs; creaking lightly, quick-footed. The utter exhaustion the general felt bound him from pulling himself together in front of this newcomer; he remained where he sat, slumped slightly in his chair, weighted with fatigue.

"General Washington, sir?" Came a familiar voice. Those brisk steps approached the open doorway. "I have the report you requested."

He coasted through the door in his youthful manner. Then he saw Washington and stopped abruptly.

"Sir? ...Are you alright?"

In that low, resonating voice of his, the general responded. "Did I grant you permission to enter?"

"Oh-I-My apologies, sir."

The general sighed slightly. "No matter. The events of today have clearly canceled out any formerly existing order in this camp... And with good reason, I suppose."

Ben opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "If you're talking about New York, sir, I-"

"It is no use revisiting the matter. I have failed, Major, and that's all there is to it. Pray do not expound upon something in hopes of making light of it."

"But..." Ben shifted, fidgeted. Carefully, he lay the sheaf of papers he had been holding on Washington's desk. "Sir, respectfully, I... I do not think you have considered all the facts."

The general let out a low, throaty chuckle. "Oh, no?"

"No, sir, not exactly. You... you do not seem to realize how your men appreciate the effort you put forth in that battle, regardless of the outcome."

Washington remained silent, staring into the flames. Ben took it as an invitation to keep going and did so, cautiously.

"You're an inspiration to your men, sir. Had you not acted as you did, you would have demonstrated that the rebellion isn't worth the men that fight for it." He paused, chewing his lip. "You may have lost this battle, but the war isn't over, sir. It's not over till you say so."

A long pause. The silence stretched, inviting the ambience of the wind to regain its dominant presence in the room.

Finally, sighing through his nose, the general spoke. "Do not be foolish, Mr. Tallmadge. I have no control over fate any more than you do. The outcome of this war is based on the competency of what I contribute as leader of the Continental army; every loss takes away from that. Regardless of my intentions, it is my actions that count."

Ben stood stiffly, hands behind his back, face defiant. "I don't agree," he said. "Sir, this war for independence would not exist, would not have kept existing for so long, if not for the sentiments of the men fighting it. Nothing is worth anything in this war if we do not exercise our beliefs-"

"I did not ask for you to agree. I am telling you that regardless of sentiment, material matter rules all in this war, in any war, in all wars. And I have proven myself to be unworthy of leading this one." He suddenly struck the arm of the chair he sat in with terrible vehemence, making Ben jump. "Damn unworthy!"

His anger drained away as suddenly as it had come; exhaustion reigned again. Wearily, he raised the hand he had used to punish the chair and rubbed his face with another sigh.

Ben fidgeted. It was difficult for him not to take action when his general seemed so listless; it tugged at his heart violently to see the man so limp with emotion, a shell of his usual self. Hesitantly, he took a step forward.

In a very low voice, Washington said, "It is not proper for you to see your leader in such a state." And suddenly, with his hand still screening his eyes, the general began to shake ever so slightly. With a wretched jolt in his chest, Ben realized the man was crying.

There was silence for a few moments as the general struggled to control himself. Damn you, he thought to himself. Showing such weakness in front of a subordinate. This will bring the army to it's end like no loss in battle ever could.

Well, the floodgates had opened-no stopping them now. Washington could not figure out how he was going to be able to reconcile with himself after this. The boy was no doubt losing respect this very moment as he sat like a fool, struggling with his blasted inner demons.

But in a moment he found his free hand held firmly by two warmer, gentler ones, and his train of self-deprecation ground to a sudden halt.

He could not bring himself to lift his eyes, but he did not make an effort to break free. It had been quite a while since he had last felt someone be so gentle to him; it had been quite a while since he had let himself become so close to anyone. But in his vulnerable state, he reasoned, he barely had a choice; and besides, this boy was not just anyone. As the Tallmadge boy knelt quietly beside him, part of Washington was averse to his presence-he should be practicing this act of naked emotion in solitude, not with the comfort of a subordinate officer-but another, louder part of him desperately called to the boy to stay, to witness his tears and his raw, unmasked sub-self as the chill wind danced outside.

They sat in silence as the tears dripped between the general's fingers and stained his ragged sleeves. A thumb stroked his free hand gently, the only steady presence in the room, an anchor in a stormy sea. Neither knew how long they stayed like that; neither cared. The tears began to subside and slowly the world returned to them.

Then Ben, almost whispering- "I know it's not important, sir, because I am only one in many-so many-but you are the only general this army should ever have, because no one in the world could be more qualified. You will lead us to victory, of that I am very confident. And... you will continue to be an enormous inspiration to your men." An unspoken 'and to me' hung on his lips.

A rush of affection for the boy stilted the general's heart and buzzed in his temples. Raising his eyes for the first time, he saw that Ben had shed a few tears of his own; his cheeks were flushed ever so slightly, his eyelashes were matted.

"Benjamin," he said softly. "Your words are of singular importance. Don't ever doubt that."

The flush on the boy's cheeks deepened, and he ducked his head a little to hide it. Propping his head up on splayed fingers, the general regarded him through his eyelashes with a very faint smile.

"Now," continued Washington in the same softness. "It is late; my head of intelligence would do best to get his sleep."

Ben straightened up jerkily, remembering all at once his status. "O-Of course, sir. I will do so." Carefully, as though handling something fragile, he removed his hands from the general's and stood up straight. Immediately, Washington was painfully aware of their absence, and wished he had not dismissed the boy quite so soon.

With a salute and very small smile, Ben left the room. Washington regarded the empty doorway for a while, then turned back to the jumping flames in the hearth. He did not move for a very long time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (yeah I know it's not so great but I'm starved of interactions b/t these two okay)


End file.
